


Oops I Spilled the Tea

by ab2fsycho



Series: The Candle Cult [5]
Category: The Candle Cult
Genre: Multi, also floof, and implications of smut, sometimes i write things without Tea, there is lots of smut, these are those ships, these are those things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-23 05:58:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 15,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4865630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ab2fsycho/pseuds/ab2fsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all ships involve Tea. A collection of my other favorite pairings within the Candle Cult and Puppeteers. Some even without.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Your Toy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Liam have always had a strange relationship.

"Are you aware of how harshly you punish my property?"

"Is that not my duty as his supervisor?"

Liam's head lifted from what he was reading and tilted at the retort. The gaze stated plainly that while Lance had a point, Liam was loath to admit that that was the case. Lance almost jumped when he heard the door shut and the lock click behind him. He sucked in a breath of anticipation, eyes focused on the Puppet Master slowly standing before him. By now he should have learned not to turn his back on Liam's dire bat. Then again, he should have learned it if he'd cared about things like this happening in any way. Care enough to keep them from happening.

But as with many things involving Liam and his beasts, he mostly wanted them to happen.

"You enjoy taking advantage of my things, Lance." Liam approached languidly, mouth nearing Lance's ear as he added, "You enjoy it too much for my liking sometimes."

Lance kept still. This was part of the game. He needed to keep still. "You realize you have about as much right to do the same to my property." Except Evangeline. She was his one prize which Liam's knew better than to lay a finger on.

Lance's resolve shattered the same way it always did: with Liam's smug statement. "Why would I touch your things," a tongue darted out to trace his ear and Lance shuddered with a combination of hatred and lust, "when you're standing right here, right now?"

"I'm not your toy, Liam," he snapped.

Liam's fingers ghosted over Lance's exposed wrists. "No, but judging by the way you damage my toys to get my attention, you're most definitely a child."

And the game was lost (or won) in much the same way it always was: Lance struggling to best Liam and Liam still managing to come out on top. On top with Lance's hands gripping one of the Puppet Master's pieces of furniture. "Quit acting like a child," Liam growled while grinding into Lance, "and maybe you'll find yourself in a higher rank one of these days."

Lance grunted, eyes rolled to the back of his head as he wound up pushing back into Liam's thrusts. He hated the man. So many times he could have bested him, been done with him, taken over this sect and no longer forced to listen to anyone who told him no.

Yet here he was. He could have changed this, but he was still determined that he didn't really want to somehow.


	2. Behave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance doesn't get rewarded unless he's a good boy.

A red taloned hand pinned human ones to the desk. "Stop," a button popped and a zip sounded, "ogling," a heated bite made the trapped Master hiss and buck, "my puppet."

Lance wrapped his legs around Liam's waist. "Jealous?"

"Hardly," the Puppet Master snarled as he bit Lance again.

"You said--"

"If you're good Lance. Then you can." Liam rutted against him. "Have you been good?" There was no answer. Only a keen and a quiet plea for more. "You had better start being good, Lance."

He tightened his legs around the other's waist. He would. He could be good. He really could.


	3. The Courtship of Phobias

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea's demon, a Greek dream demon named Gemmy, was not always a puppet. He had a duty: protecting the dream realm from gods and amplifying nightmares.
> 
> He also had a mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I really write demon bug sex?
> 
> Yes.
> 
> Yes I did.
> 
> I've sunk this far.

Two things tended to happen when Gemmy was sought after by another Phobia. One, the opponent wound up running. Two, Gemmy wound up killing them. Gemmy was neither merciful nor negotiable in courtship, and that won him his isolation. He didn't have time for the weak or fainthearted, and he really wasn't interested in pursuing anyone.

But the butterfly had been persistent, more persistent than the others. More importantly, he survived. Their first encounter, it was Gemmy who fled. Torn up from the fight, he'd actually had to hide from Luster. Their second encounter Gemmy had narrowly gotten out of the other's hold, squirming his way from under the winged Phobia with a few more major injuries than before.

The third encounter, he was beginning to want the other to win.

When he realized that he'd growled and hissed and clicked his tail, pacing in his shelter and flopping in random nesting areas. He curled up in frustration, unsure whether to be angrier with himself for giving in at the first good fight or with Luster for being so damn interested. He wanted to struggle and come out on top as he always had in the past. At the same time . . . .

One more fight determined his fate.

Gemmy was wandering about the realm when he saw the shadow cover him. Luster quickly followed, landing on his back heavily and immediately pinning him to the ground. Gemmy let out a feral yowl, Luster grabbing his horns with two hands and pushing his face into the ground. Gemmy kicked, pincers lurching up to latch onto one of his wings. Luster hissed, growling in Gemmy's ear as the earwig clawed at the ground futilely. Another pair of palms latched onto a set of his and Gemmy tried to shake his head, but Luster held him still. His chest erupted with another yowl and suddenly something long and slick wrapped around his throat, soothing the noises he was creating. Gemmy shuddered under Luster, who now purred into his ear as his long tongue held Gemmy's throat closed.

Gemmy stilled, ceasing his clawing and struggling as he allowed his pincer to loosen. This was nowhere near as bloody as previous fights but . . . it wasn't necessarily over yet.

Luster responded immediately to the earwig's relaxing in his hold, tongue tightening before sliding from around the other's throat. The butterfly's tongue stroked over Gemmy's neck and head, Luster purring almost affectionately as his body pressed closer to Gemmy's. Pressing between the earwig's legs, Luster forced his tail to the side as he started rutting against Gemmy. Encouraging him to allow him entry, Luster's member unsheathed itself and began pressing against Gemmy. Gripping Gemmy's horns and arms roughly, he purred and licked the earwig's pointed ear. Only now was he asking to take him, now when Gemmy couldn't (or wouldn't) escape.

Luster started panting above him, the sound combined with the sensation of his tongue making Gemmy croon in response. The butterfly pressed his member harder against him, seeming less like a demand and more like a beg.

Gemmy liked that.

He shuddered, burying his face against the dirt as he allowed the butterfly access to his body. Luster slid into him, letting out a purr that was . . . astonishingly beautiful in Gemmy's ear. The earwig shook and met the other Phobia's sounds with moans of his own as Luster filled him completely. Gemmy's body betrayed him as his hips drove back against Luster's, encouraging him to move. Luster hummed so loudly and pleasantly he felt it against his back. Thrusting slowly into him at first, Gemmy met his movements with his own as he dug his fingers into the ground. Croons and grunts spilling from his mouth, Luster hastened his movements when he found the earwig was no longer struggling. That long tongue graced the back of Gemmy's head and ran down his back, the butterfly letting go of one horn to brace against the ground while still clutching the other. Gemmy twitched beneath him, body arching into the Luster's as the butterfly started growling in his ear. The tongue receded and a set of fangs bur-ied into the back of Gemmy's neck. Gemmy cried out as he clenched around the other, tightening just enough to milk Luster's release into him. Both were left shaking, steadily stilling against one another. Luster released his neck, rubbing his face against Gemmy's head as he let go of the earwig's horn and arms. His palms stroked the Phobia's back and sides as he slowly sheathed his member and let Gemmy adjust.

Luster didn't get off of Gemmy, holding him and caressing him as he purred against his head. Gemmy shivered, the motive clear to him long before Luster let out a verbal claim, "Mine."

Gemmy didn't argue as the butterfly guided him to his new shelter, instead thinking of what it might entail for him to be Luster's.

And Luster to be his.


	4. Getting Comfortable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luster holds the philosophy that if he fits he sits.

Gemmy grunted as Luster climbed on top of him, his tail clicking in agitation as the other Phobia stepped on every part of him that was sore from the latest round of terrors he'd wrought. When Luster finally settled on him, curling up and covering them with his wings, Gemmy sighed in relief.

He groaned, indicating that Luster had gotten heavier.

Luster hissed, saying he hadn't.

Gemmy snorted in disbelief as Luster's tongue slid from between his fangs and licked up the length of the other's neck. Gemmy hummed, shifting slightly under Luster.

Then Luster rubbed at Gemmy's belly affectionately and the earwig Phobia grinned. Luster purred above him lovingly.


	5. Bad Mood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gemmy can get terribly moody, and only one Phobia is unafraid to approach him.

Gemmy paced, snarling and hissing and in general just being terribly moody. Luster watched this for a solid hour, letting the earwig flop about their home clicking his tail. If any other Phobia chose now to interrupt the earwig's tirade, they would be gutted on the spot.

But when Luster flew down to the pacing, growling Phobia, Gemmy simply turned and stilled. Luster hissed, asking what was troubling his mate. When Gemmy did not reply, instead yowling and turning away to pace more, Luster pursued. Standing slightly on two legs rather than walking on all six limbs, he placed himself taller than the other and snapped his jaws twice warningly.

Gemmy spun on him, striking out with a clawed hand and raking a set of marks down his clavicle.  
Luster hissed and backed away, tongue darting out to lick his own wound. Gemmy stopped moving, an apologetic croon slipping his throat as he started to approach. Luster bristled and growled at him, the wound weeping still despite his licks. The butterfly hissed again at the earwig, his mate who had hurt him.

Gemmy lowered himself to the ground, tail no longer clicking in irritation but lowered shamefully. He cried softly, pitifully, as he crawled towards Luster apologetically. Seeing this display luster let him approach. As Gemmy came to settle at his feet, his own golden tongues darted out to caress the marks he'd left on Luster. The butterfly's body curved over top of the other, who cleaned the wound and whined out apologies for hurting his mate. Luster purred back at him, quieter growls telling him not to do it again. When the wound had stopped bleeding, Gemmy curled under him and allowed Luster to cover his body with his own.

After a while the apologetic whines and reassuring purrs quieted, and Gemmy finally gestured to his middle and let out a pained noise. Luster rubbed the spot, searching for injuries and finding none external. Then he purred and curled tighter over Gemmy, licking up his face and nuzzling his neck and head. Massaging the part of Gemmy's belly that was bound to be sore for a good while, Luster purred and encouraged his mate onto a softer bedding where he could better rest.

Gemmy let the butterfly massage and care for him, humming at how his mate covered him like a blanket.


	6. Pleasant Daydreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yin has a crush on someone who is otherwise occupied. A birthday gift for the Human Pet!

Yin was manning the counter in the shop when Aiden walked in. She stared at him, quietly blushing to herself as her eyes ventured over muscles and raven black hair. She sighed dreamily, then her eyes widened and she spun away from him and put her back to the former Puppeteer. Her stomach fluttered and she felt absolutely silly, looking him over like a . . . a . . . a predator. Yin sighed. She was nowhere near being the predator as someone like Ash or Tea or Tapi. Well, maybe not Tea. Then again . . . either way, she wasn’t fierce enough to be considered a viable option. She was just . . . human. Nothing cool. Just human.

Disheartened, she pretended to fiddle with another register before turning around. She squealed when she came face to face with Aiden, leaning on the counter casually. Whatever she was holding fell out of her hands with a clatter and Aiden’s smirk was . . . .

He was smirking at her.

Her stomach was doing jumping jacks because he was staring at her, smirking at her.

“You know,” Aiden said quietly, tracing a small pattern on the countertop with his finger, “I like you.”

Yin’s face felt hot. Her neck felt hot. Fuck it, she was hot all over. “H-huh?”

“Yeah.” Was he really this smooth? Surely not. “Know why?” She didn’t shake her head consciously, but knew she was doing it by the way his image shifted in her field of vision. Oh gosh, he was blushing too. It was . . . adorable. “It’s because you’re human.”

Her heart leapt as Aiden leaned over the counter and his lips brushed hers. She closed her eyes, one of his hands ghosting over hers as his mouth moved against hers in a surprisingly gentle kiss.

Yin was pulled out of her daydream when Tea came behind the counter and dropped an empty box at her feet. “Whatever you’re thinking about must be damn good,” he jested, gesturing that she should check herself before she embarrassed herself.

She yelped as she realized she was about to drool all over herself, wiping her mouth and sitting up behind the counter. “Um,” God, her face was hot as hell, “um,” she glanced about the otherwise empty shop to ensure Tea was the only witness, “did you f-finish stocking? Alread-dy?”

Tea nodded, raising his eyebrows in concern. “You okay there?”

She pursed her lips and nodded slowly. There was absolutely no good way to tell Tea, her big brother, that she had been daydreaming about someone he obviously felt a great deal of affection for.

Perhaps it was best she keep her little fantasies about a certain black haired raven lord to herself.


	7. Waterlily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An affair between forest nymph Ash and siren Serena blooms.

Ash finished braiding the wildflowers into Serena’s hair, the siren sitting atop a raft with her tail swishing in the water. She let the small forest nymph do her hair up with a variety of buds and blossoms, enjoying the light touches and the feeling of fingers in her hair. Lying back on the raft once Ash was finished, she stared up at the antlered girl and gave a quiet, “Thank you.”

 

“My pleasure,” Ash said, brushing a loose strand of hair from Serena’s face. “Pink’s a good color on you.”

 

Serena grinned. Running her own fingers over Ash’s cyan hair, Serena asked, “You make me look so incredible, don’t you think you should have some flowers of your own?”

 

Ash shrugged, feet dipping in the water as she lay on her stomach at Serena’s side. “You don’t need my help to look incredible.”

 

The siren caught that her question had been ignored. “I want you to look as incredible as I feel.”

 

“That simply won’t happen,” Ash said cheerfully, nuzzling Serena. “You are perfect, and I am here to make you look even more irresistible.”

 

Serena wrinkled her nose. “Be right back.” Sliding off the raft, she swam effortlessly through the water in search of a specific plant. When she found it, she tugged two down and severed the long stalks before bringing them back to Ash. Once she surfaced again, she gestured for Ash to keep still. The nymph lay on her stomach still, but with her head at the edge of the raft within Serena’s reach. She didn’t flinch at all when Serena placed a decently sized lily pad between her antlers. She did make a noise as water dripped down her long green-blue hair and face, but didn’t pull away or protest as Serena wrapped the two lilies attached to the pad around each of her antlers. When she was done, the pad sat fixed between her antlers with the lilies spiraling up, the buds resting in almost parallel nooks. Serena cupped Ash’s face in her palms, pulling her forward to look at her reflection in the water. “Now we match.”

 

Serena wore the flowers of the forest in her hair while Ash was adorned with the flowers of the lake. Ash smiled down at the water, then gave Serena a gentle and loving kiss on her forehead. “Thank you.”

 

The siren was certain that Ash was blushing, though her dark pallor made it difficult to tell. Crossing her arms over Ash’s, she pressed their foreheads together and began singing quietly to Ash. Ash relaxed on the raft, which swayed with the small waves on the lake. The quiet and calm setting wasn’t disturbed in the slightest by Serena’s voice. In fact, frogs and crickets and songbirds seemed to compliment her tune as she lulled Ash into relaxation. Coming to a good pause in her song, she whispered to Ash, “Would you like to join me beneath the waves?”

 

Ash responded with a simple nod, and a hushed, “I’d love to.”

 

Serena continued her tune with a smile, drawing Ash from the raft and calmly, quietly slipping the both of them underwater. She was glad Ash did not need to breathe, for she could relax in the lake’s depths with the forest nymph for hours on end.

 

No interruption from other cultists.

 

No prying eyes.

 

They were completely at peace in each other’s loving company.


	8. Bathing a Boggart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lee has no issue watching Sinny suffer through a bath.

“NO!” Lee jumped out the long, drawn out cry and went running straight for the kitchen. Why would she run towards someone screaming instead of away? Because she knew the person.

And she was ready to bite the hell out of the person who might be hurting him until she saw why he was screaming.

“You’re filthy,” Dexy exclaimed, pouring a cup of warm, soapy water over Sinny’s head. The boggart’s ears flattened as he glared up at Dexy, small palms gripped the side of the sink as he tried to escape the water like a cat. She managed to hold him down with one hand while starting to scrub him with another. “Hold still!”

“Release me!” He was emulating so many voices Lee didn’t recognize. Slowly approaching, she pulled a chair along with her to stand on.

As soon as Sinny realized her presence, he directed his shouting to her. “Save me!” Lee climbed onto the chair and sat, but gave no reply. “Lee help m—!” he was muffled by another cup of water pouring over his head. He shook then, making Dexy and Lee flinch for but a moment. In their moment of shock, he scurried halfway out of the sink only for Dexy to scruff him and push him back in. “Why?” he whined loudly and obnoxiously.

“Because you rolled in a puddle of mud like a pooch!” Lee looked in the water at Dexy’s accusation. Sure enough, it was brown and dirty, particles trying to settle at the bottom despite Sinny’s squirming and attempts at escape. Lee let out a noise of disgust.

“Traitor,” Sinny hissed at her.

Lee held up her hands. “You deserve it! You’re dirty.” She stuck out her tongue, then laughed as she kicked the chair with her heels. Tail twitching, she almost did feel sorry for him. Until he eased out of the sink enough to snag her arm. “Hey!” she shouted, scales almost recoiling at the feeling of wet against them. “Let go!”

“Let go,” Dexy smacked Sinny’s hand, but he clung harder.

A second wet palm shot forward and locked onto her wrist. He then whispered harshly, “I’m taking you down with me.”

Lee hissed and snapped her teeth, but he didn’t let go. “I could still eat you, furball.” Tea wasn’t here to save him this time.

Sinny didn’t flinch, ears pinned and eyes narrowed. “Hope you like your food soggy and gritty.”

Lee was pulled into the sink with a splash and a squeal, Dexy now covered in soapy water from her neck to her hips.

That Sinny remained alive at all around her was a total mystery to her.


	9. Lessons Must Be Learned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was once a former wind god who wandered the cult grounds named Zephyr. Zephyr, while having had his soul collected by Tapi, still belongs to a very different, very controlling master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eros is an asshole and he treats Zephyr terribly, this is a warning that he will make Zephyr bleed for his transgressions.

Many things had changed for the wind god, but some things never did.

“How many centuries has it been, Zephyr?” Eros asked. “How long have we been doing this? Hm?”

“Get off—!”

“What have I told you?” Zephyr went completely still. His arm hurt as Eros stood on it, pressing the twisted appendage tighter against his back. He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t even look at the god looming above him. There was a twist in his gut. He cursed his low pain tolerance, cursed his throbbing arm. He wanted to curse Eros.

It was a bit too late for that. “I,” his tongue curled in his mouth. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t answer. He needed to. But he couldn’t.

What little defiance remained in him dwindled and frayed at the loud sigh of disappointment. Wing flared and shook, then Eros ground his heel into Zephyr’s arm and back. The wind god cried out, pitiful beneath the much larger god. “I have given you so much of my time and energy. You can’t even give me a simple answer.” A twist of his foot and Zephyr was silenced for a moment. Then the whimpering resumed. “How difficult is it to remember what I’ve taught you?”

Zephyr felt the tears rising as he murmured, “It’s not,” then struggled to tack on the word, “Master.”

“Do we need to do an exercise? Recite my three cardinal rules?” Zephyr was about to swear, no. No, he didn’t need to recite them. He knew them. He was so close to speaking, but then Eros jammed his foot into his back and arm harder. Zephyr gasped, and Eros responded, “I believe so too.” He dragged his foot from Zephyr’s back, but Zephyr made no move to escape. He knew he couldn’t, and trying would result in more pain.

And the sharp point pressing into his back was warning enough he was still in for it. “E-Eros?” he stammered for the first time. Suddenly he was reverting to an accent and language he was only just picking up. “Eros, mi c-corazon—”

“Rule number one?” the god asked coldly. 

Zephyr shivered. His tears were hot on his face. “D-don’t harm you or yours-s.” The point dragged down the length of Zephyr’s back, deep and painful. His fists balled against the smooth floor, a wail building up in his throat as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Number two?”

Zephyr huffed and puffed, a choked sob escaping at the pain. But he continued obediently. “C-come when I c-called.” Not one, but two more lines were carved into his back. He couldn’t withhold the screams this time, though they remained just as pathetic and quickly became whimpers.

“And number three?”

He braced in anticipation of three lines being dragged down his back. His stammering grew worse, blood pooling and overrunning. With a closing throat he whispered the final rule. “You . . . f-first.”

“In which situations?”

Zephyr fought not to bite his lip. “In . . . all.”

“Very good, Zephyr.” Eros’s palm lay flat against the side of Zephyr’s cheek and the wind god clung to it.

It was the only thing keeping him rooted as the knife carved its final marks into his back.


	10. A Visit from the Wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When asked about his wife, Jack answers, "She's the devil." When arguing that she can't be that bad, he replies, "I'm not joking. She's the devil."
> 
> He didn't survive the Black Plague without serious help after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This lovely relationship is extremely suggestive and somewhat unhealthy, so be warned.

“Honey, I’m home!”

A literal shiver ran up Jack’s spine. It didn’t matter how long it had been or how often he heard that voice, he still reacted the same way. He had just locked the Third Jackal’s doors when that sweet, lilting voice had greeted him. When he turned back towards the bar, there she was.

His darling wife.

Lying across the counter like a pinup and watching him like hawk.

He let out a groan. “Do you have to lie there?” He had just polished off the countertop.

“Would you prefer me on a different flat surface?” she asked. She rolled onto her stomach, sure to make a motion with her hips meant to tease him. She folded her arms over the bit of her chest that was exposed, blocking his view with a devious smile. Ankles locked together and swaying back and forth, she continued watching him in the same manner though her position had changed. “Tell me sweetie, how are you liking your new abode?”

His eyes narrowed. “This feels like a trap.”

She let out a mock of a gasp, jaw dropping as she made herself appear as though she were shocked. He almost rolled his eyes, but he knew better. Most of the time he could get away with small gestures of annoyance like that, but depending on her mood she was prone and capable of gouging them out. “Why would I trap you, my dearest? It’s not as if I,” she wiggled her eyebrows, “own your soul, or anything.”

“Lily,” Jack declared, daring to step over to the counter and take a seat. He propped his head up on one hand and met her discolored gaze, which by now even though she only had one visible, amber iris amidst black sclera he knew to be fixed on him. “What are you up to?”

She dropped the syrupy sweet tone and her swaying feet stilled. Tilting her head slightly, her typically red skin seemed to be almost maroon in the reflection of the countertop. He only glanced down at said reflection, of course, for the simple fact that she had parted her arms enough to allow him a small view of her cleavage. His gaze was only pulled from that part of her when she began tapping one finger on the bar’s surface, that finger sounding very loud and agitated as the clicking of her claw against the counter persisted. He looked back up at her and she asked in a hushed, calm voice, “What are you up to, Jackie Boy?”

Of all the nicknames she came up with for him, that one always seemed to strike a nerve in him. It was like he was a young man nearly dead again, lying on a bed in want of life. The feeling no longer sit well with him, as he was neither a dying man nor in want of the life he’d been given. But alas, here he was.

Face to face with Lilith.

The Lilith of Hell.

“I’m just a man making a living, darling,” he declared. He knew she hated the term when applied to her. Somewhere in its history it once meant ‘minion.’ If anyone was the minion in this situation, however, it was him.

She tilted her head farther, his words apparently hitting her in a way she didn’t find all too amusing. “Do you quite like your new friends? I hear some of them are as infallible as yourself.”

“They are decent people.” Albeit slightly strange, but that seemed well enough. He was by no means normal.

“And your employees?”

He squinted. “I only have the one.” Her eyes flashed. There it was. The jealous streak. “She is a nice young lady.”

“She is your type.”

Jack scoffed. “I don’t have a type.”

Her back arched as she sat up higher, propping her breasts onto her forearms. And like a fool, he looked. Like a damn fool, he stared. “Oh don’t you?”

And now . . . he was sputtering. “It isn’t lik-ke that, Lilith.”

“Are you sure?” He nodded vigorously, wide eyes returning to his face as he swallowed hard and was determined not to let his gaze fall again. “I don’t need to make some . . . adjustments,” he eyes scanned his body as she hissed the word, “to your living arrangements?”

“No no!” he quickly replied. “Everything is q-quite alright.”

She tilted her head the other way, and in a snap her expression softened. A fanged grin slowly spread over her face as she murmured, “Why so nervous, sweetie?” Her palm slid from the counter, reaching down to stroke up his thigh. “Didn’t you miss me?”

Like an ass missed having a tail pinned to him. “Of course, d-darling.”

Her eye twitched, and she hummed. “Well,” she decided, “I am on a flat surface. And you apparently missed me.” She squeezed his inner thigh close to his groin roughly and his back went rigid. Sitting bolt upright, he sucked in a sharp breath before blowing it out harshly again. “Why don’t you make good use of this position? And maybe,” she leaned closed so their faces were almost touching as she bit her lip, “I won’t spill all of your guts in a more literal manner.”

And now he was stammering, less from nervousness and more from the things her hand was threatening to do to him. She could do such lovely things. Lovely and terrible things. “Can you p-put them back correctly please?”

“Maybe,” she purred playfully. “Depends.”

“O-on?”

“Whether or not I’m satisfied.”

He had a feeling the Third Jackal was going to be opening late the next day, if at all.


	11. An Anniversary Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lilith honors their union, though Jack cringes to see just how she will. This year isn't as bad as previous centuries.

   
“Guess what day it is!” were the words that followed the pop of Lilith coming into existence.

Jack turned around nonchalantly, and with a deep breath felt his heart start to skip and his chest tighten in worry. “No dear,” he declared with a subtle note of sarcasm. “Do tell.”

She gave him an exaggerated pout. “You’re not even gonna guess?”

“I really don’t want to.” His brow furrowed. He just wanted to clean up and go home so he could drink the slow ass day away. Could she not?

“It’s our anniversary, silly!” His whole being froze. Oh dear. What monstrosity was she going to hand him this time? Stepping closer, she held her hands out and he waited for whatever she was summoning to appear. A dog’s skull? A still beating heart? A pair of ripped off breasts? Oh, those had been . . . interesting. “You liked them so much, I thought I’d give you your own to play with!” had been her excuse. He always asked if the poor creature she had taken these from could possibly have these things back, but she always said it wouldn’t do any good. Of course it wouldn’t. He was the only thing she decided to keep alive long past his expiration date.

When the ‘gift’ appeared, Jack stared at it for a while in disbelief. It stared back at him. “Oh,” he murmured as the rather large, fluffy, gray thing was held out to him. “It’s a . . . kitty.”

“Your very own pussy, you could say,” Lilith declared with a small wink.

Jack let out an exaggerated sigh. “Funny.” Magnificent sense of humor on this one. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked before extending his arms to take the cat from her hands. The way she was holding it, the thing was practically dangling. And it didn’t look happy to be here.

“Nothing’s wrong with him, why would you say that?” She pulled the cat (who was almost the length of her torso) to her and nuzzled the top of his head. “Don’t listen to him baby, you’re perfect just the way you are.”

And then . . . it talked. “Fuck off.”

And Jack instantly decided he was going to like this cat.

Taking the cat and cradling him a little gentler than his wife, Jack decided, “I think I’ll keep this one, dear.”

Lilith’s eyes lit up. “You will?” Her excitement was borderline adorable. It was a shame that was the exact same look she got when straddling him and pulling his innards out during a certain time of the year. Gosh, those were rough times.

“I will.” The cat started grumbling and Lilith bounced on her toes. He quickly reprimanded, “That doesn’t mean you should keep bringing me talking animals though.”

She booped his nose. “So cute.” And he knew he’d made a mistake in telling her that. He was going to have a minotaur on his doorstep next year, he just knew it. “I’ll pick you up next Saturday for a special dinner, okay?”

Jack went stiff again. “No!” Her special dinners were usually tragic events in history (like the first use of the guillotine). Which led him to ask in a fit of worry, “What’s happening next Saturday?!”

“It’s a surprise, sweetie. I’m sure you’ll love it!” She disappeared then, and he was left with a talking cat in his arms.

Who promptly demanded, “You gonna stand there and gawk or give me a saucer of milk to get me to stay?”

Shaken from his trance, he retorted, “Hope you like White Russians.”

“If it involves milk, I’ll take it.”

Oh yes, he was going to get along fantastically with this present.


	12. Licorice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An older Mari gets her first kiss from close friend Araneus.

"I want you to be my first kiss."

Aren was startled, but recalled a time when he had said similar to someone he was also close to. And Mari was sweet. Sweet and . . . .

Pretty.

Very pretty.

He'd been stunned to see her out of her usual form. Out of her small childish shape. He neglected to ask her how this had come to pass, but that didn't seem to matter. What mattered was that she actually appeared to fluster. Only . . . without the actual color in her cheeks.

Aren smiled sweetly before nodding. "Alright-t." He felt bad about the stutter, but cupped her face gently and . . . .

He hesitated.

Perhaps for too long.

He felt her shake in his palms and she gave an unsteady sigh. "You don't want to?"

Aren shook his head, then closed his eyes. "No, just . . . tell me if it makes you . . . uncomfortable."

"I will."

She was the one who didn't wait after that. Her lips were touching his and they were soft. Soft and sweet with a hint of . . . mischief.

Just like her.

He couldn't help but smile as he deepened the kiss and pulled her closer. She couldn't help but moan into the kiss.


	13. Once a Human Loved a Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sixty-nine years ago, Rowan had a family. Sixty-nine years ago, they had no idea what would become of Rowan.

“What’s on your mind?” 

If he shaved her head, he would see the answer: a brand. That always seemed to be on her mind: the brand. The feeling of her husband’s fingers gliding through her miraculous black mane was a kindness compared to the way her neck had nearly cracked by a man jerking her head back to shave her head. Remove the hair. Remove their identity.

Then burn the heart and handles into their skull. Remove their mind.

Only their minds were never removed. They always struggled. They always managed. They always fought.

They were always killed.

Leah had not been killed.

Erland wound his arms around her waist as she cradled their newborn son. She rocked the small blonde bundle gently, pondering her answer. He brushed the hair out of her golden gaze, completely ignorant of the scar that lay just above her nape. Just hidden by the hair she had worked to grow back. Her Master was long dead and she had no desire to be found by his companions.

The thought struck her and she found herself whispering over her sleeping son, “Erland?”

“Yes dear?”

“Promise me,” she murmured, “that the men I told you about will never find us?” She ran her gloved fingertips over the head of their infant, legs curled under them as her husband hummed in thought. “Promise me they will never find him.” Leah did not want to be found. But Rowan?

She would kill for her Rowan.

“Not as long as I live.”

She sighed, tears gathering in her eyes. Her worst nightmare was that her son would see what she had seen. Would suffer as she had suffered. She had gotten out. She had hidden among people who respected her kind. She had grown and healed and she had worked to get back the time that had been stolen from her.

She had fallen in love with a man who had come home from a terrible war. She had eloped with him when all of her remaining and adopted kin had told her no. He was not one of them no matter how honorable. She didn’t care. He was a man who saw her beauty and power and treated her like the raging storm she could be. He had seen her in all versions of her skin and he loved her still.

Her Master had owned her body and attempted to take her mind, but Erland Sverre? He owned her heart. With her heart, she gave all. She couldn’t have made a better choice.

He let her rest Rowan against his arms as well. She smiled, the feature masked by a kerchief that hid her fangs. Their baby boy had been born with Erland’s hazel eyes, but there may come a day when they shone just as gold as hers. Just as gold as his hair. Oh how he looked like his father. The two most beautiful things in her life were golden and bright, like the sun peering over the horizon as it rose to greet them. “Thank you, my love.”

“What is it you and yours always tell me?” Erland whispered in her ear.

She grinned, leaning back into his warmth and strength. “Wild things should stay wild.”

He chuckled again and she matched him with a giggle. “He’ll be the wildest of us.”

“I’m sure he will.”

“You’ve seen him smile, right?”

“Yes I have, Erl. I birthed him.”

“He’s gonna get whatever he wants with that smile.”

She hoped so. Leah truly wished that for her son. A life of freedom and love, free of fear and struggle. She would do whatever she could to ensure that was the life he would lead.


	14. Rewards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eros does in fact make his pet feel good from time to time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sin sin deadly sin careful of this sin it might be slightly dubcon sin sin

Psyche was too kind to his slave. However, the scarf was soft in his hand as he drew it taut around Zephyr’s neck. The smaller was tense, mouth hanging open and gasping for air as he looked up at Eros. The unspoken question on his tongue was clear to the love god.

What had Zephyr done wrong this time?

Eros shook his head as he lifted the other off his feet by the scarf and positioned him on his lap. He used the scarf to keep his back flush against his chest. With that, his lips neared the shell of Zephyr’s ear and he whispered, “Don’t say a word.” Don’t give yourself the opportunity to ruin this experience with that mouth of yours, was what Eros was really saying. Pulling the scarf tighter, he saw Zephyr’s eyes roll to the back of his head before he closed them. A rasp of a breath escaped the former god’s lips as Eros drew a pattern on the smaller’s quivering stomach with just the tip of his index finger.

Lips pressing to Zephyr’s throat, Eros hummed quietly as he closed his own eyes before laying his hand flat on the smaller. A strangled sound of pleasure was cut off by the tightness of the other’s scarf. Eros massaged and stroked his skin, wings curling around them and dragging the floor as the feathers concealed their activities. He kept the scarf tight enough to choke until Zephyr learned to keep his moans and various other noises to himself.

Only then did he loosen it enough for the other to breathe. Even then, just a little.

Only a little.

He caressed and kissed Zephyr’s skin until he was sure the smaller would burst from his touch alone. Zephyr was good though. He knew to wait until Eros came first. Eros always came first. And he had every intention of coming inside the former god, whom he had strangled silent until he was all but limp and pliant in his arms.

It was important to reward one’s pet when they had behaved well. It encourages them to continue behaving well.

Eros pushed Zephyr’s thighs apart, palm dipping down to practically engulf his length. He watched the other’s face perform miraculous expressions as he teased his hardness for a few strokes. A few, long, tight strokes. Then his fingers moved down, grazing over Zephyr’s sacks lightly. The former wind god bucked off his lap, but Eros didn’t stop. He ran his fingertips over Zephyr’s balls for a moment longer, then dipped his fingertips into the smaller’s entrance.

Zephyr almost screamed in his arms.

Eros shushed him, and Zephyr obeyed instantly.

Eros usually didn’t stretch him without the help of a toy. The additional pressure of his abilities sometimes proved to be just too much for the smaller. However, he took Eros’s fingers like it was natural this time. Eros’s eyes locked on the head of the other’s cock and watched precum leak from the tip, but he didn’t soil the both of them. Very fortunate for Zephyr. Eros would be disappointed if he broke one of the love god’s cardinal rules during a rewarding session.

Husky breaths left the former wind god’s mouth and his entire face was red from exertion. Eros would start to loosen the scarf, but then Zephyr would lean forward and tighten it around his neck again. Eros caught on that he was doing this on purpose.

Far be it from him to deny the smaller the desired lack of breath.

It wasn’t until Eros was pushing up into him that he insisted the scarf be loosened just a little. Zephyr didn’t argue this time. Eros twined his palm in the scarf before sinking his fingers into the hair at Zephyr’s nape. The smaller went completely and utterly still.

And Eros rammed up into him until he and the former wind god were both coming.


	15. Get to Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zephyr knows exactly how to please his master, but sometimes he needs to be reminded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some serious felatio (how the fuck do you spell that) is happening here, with the M/s dynamic strong

Eros’s fingers curled around the ponytail on the smaller former god’s head. Zephyr went still at the silent command to submit, a moan of anticipation and fretfulness lodged on the pink haired man’s tongue. It choked him, kept him from saying something he would most assuredly regret. He had said many things Eros knew for a fact he regretted during his service to the love god.

Palm hovering just over the former god’s scalp, Eros whispered the command, “Your clothes. Remove them.”

“S-s—”

“No. Spanish.” That language on Zephyr’s tongue annoyed him.

“Pero mi corazon—,” Eros’s glare intensified and Zephyr’s lips were closed in a matter of seconds. “I am sorry, Master.” He had better be. Eros softened his gaze but did not lose the glare. He waited for Zephyr to complete his task.

Which he did, all while Eros held him up by the hair. The smaller’s back was uncomfortably straight as he slid off his coat and undid his shirt. They fell off his shoulders and gathered at his feet. He looked up, hands on his scarf as if looking for approval to remove that as well. Eros nodded curtly, and Zephyr unwound the material from his neck. Now completely bare up top, he kicked off his shoes and proceeded to undo his trousers. Pushing them down, he closed his eyes against the palm locked on his hand as he shimmied out of them. Stepping forward and out of his pile of discarded clothing, he watched Eros and waited for his next command.

It came in the form of a clipped, “Now me.”

“Yes Master,” Zephyr murmured, his hands slipping under the band of Eros’s silk pants. He pushed them down, bulge in his trousers already prominent. Once the former god had pushed the material below his ass and groin, revealing a long and thick member standing at attention for the smaller, Eros cleared his throat.

And commanded, “That’s enough,” before guiding Zephyr’s head down by the hair. The smaller’s knees buckled as he was lowered to the ground, Eros pulling and maneuvering until Zephyr’s mouth was against his head. Then Eros ordered, “Open up.” Zephyr obeyed, a small moan spilling forth as he just opened wide enough for the tip to brush between his lips. “Wider.” Once again, the smaller obeyed. A much louder moan escaped, and Eros could imagine how the other’s jaw was aching from the width he had opened it to.

Eros neither complimented nor commented before shoving his full length down the other’s throat. Only then did he lower his palm enough to touch Zephyr’s scalp, letting the pleasure of his touch seep into the man’s head. Hair still taut in his fingers, Eros sent waves of desire through the other as he shifted his hips back and forth. The warmth of Zephyr’s throat and wetness of his tongue almost pulled a groan from the much larger god. His wings tensed and fluttered lightly from the feeling, and Zephyr’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he continued to moan around Eros’s cock. The vibrations had him closing his own eyes and succumbing to the moment.

He needn’t give anymore orders.

Zephyr knew he was to swallow down every drop.


	16. Feathers and Fur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jinx and Nicoli spend a night together, and things get heated.

It started as cuddling. Jinx ran his hands through Nicoli’s feathers, picking them out one by one and feeling the texture of each beautiful part of his tail in his palms. He could feel lingering marks on his body, scars from battles and aches long past. He could hear Leland sighing and sleeping in the other room, his ears shifting as he listened to every occupant in this house breathe. Staying over was nice. He got the care he lacked when alone in his treehouse.

It was when he shifted closer to Nicoli that he heard a gasp and moan. Jinx couldn’t help but return the noises. “Nicoli?” The siren didn’t answer. Jinx assumed he was asleep. Holding the other cultist tight, he hummed as Nicoli’s arms encircled him and held him just as firmly. Jinx felt a stuttered, breathy groan leave his throat as their legs interlocked. Careful not to scrap at Nicoli’s legs with his hooves, Jinx shifted so that he was rubbing Nicoli’s legs with his own. Nicoli moaned again.

And it . . . was one of the cutest . . . sexiest things he had heard from the siren.

Jinx’s ears flattened against his head as the wendigo hummed again and buried his nose in Nicoli’s hair. He breathed in the scent of the other, and was combination astonished and mortified at how he opened his mouth to taste the scent as well. God, his mouth was watering. Without thinking, he nipped the siren’s ear. The flesh and cartilage was so . . . perfect in his mouth.

This time when Nicoli moaned, Jinx moaned directly into his ear as well.

And at long last, Nicoli awakened.

Jinx felt it in their heartbeats that they were both awake and . . . in need. It took one tilt of his head and one shift of Nicoli’s body for Jinx to capture the siren’s lips. They both moaned into the open kiss, tongues grazing softly against one another. The wendigo’s palms locked behind Nicoli’s back as Nicoli clutched at his. The kiss turned hard and wanton, and he could feel that wasn’t the only thing between them that was hard and wanton.

They didn’t remove their trousers. They ground against one another, feeling their needs pressing and growing and throbbing and leaking. Their moans and groans turned into keens and whimpers and Jinx had the vague thought Winston could write a symphony of this, turn something that was already beautiful into something immaculate. Fingers laced together, legs locked and tangled as they pushed and ground and thrust and jerked. Jinx felt every single one of Nicoli’s breaths blow across his face and he’d never felt a sweeter embrace.

He’d known love, but he hadn’t known it could compare to something this gentle.

Their whines grew in pitch and their pace grew frantic. Sweat was gathering on their temples and foreheads, and Nicoli’s tongue darted out to lap at the dew that lingered on Jinx’s brow. Jinx twisted away from the siren’s lips briefly, returning hastily so he could return the favor and kiss away all the beads running down a face he’d touched to see. The salty sweat lingered on his lips as he held Nicoli’s face in his hands and he threw his head back. He was close. He couldn’t say it, but he was close. He couldn’t speak, but he was . . . .

Nicoli seized his lips, teeth nipping as they both cried out. Jinx first, Nicoli second. They didn’t stop kissing until they were officially out of breath, until they were tasting sweat and each other. Their legs remained locked in place and Nicoli’s arms remained tight around Jinx’s waist. Jinx massaged the siren’s head as Nicoli sighed and whispered, “Maybe . . . next time we can . . . take out pants off.”

It started as cuddling. It ended as something more.


	17. We Shells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charta could get high on Winston's emotion.

“Hold still please.”

“What are you doing?”

“Shushing is a need.”

“You’re being really strange right now. Can you--?”

Charta clapped a palm over Winston’s mouth and the ghost was silenced. He half expected his palm to fall through the other’s face, but it did not. Good. 

He almost broke his typical speech pattern of rhyming during all of Winston’s interruptions, but he managed to get the other quiet. He heard the fellow cultist sigh dramatically before pulling his palm away, Charta now resting his head against Winston’s chest and stilling his own movements so he could hear better. Charta did not have innards. He didn’t have gut sounds or a need to eat or any of the things that made him human. Technically Winston didn’t have a need for any of these things either.

But there was still something . . . alive about the dead man.

For a pair of empty people, they felt a great deal. Or rather, Winston felt a great deal. A heart should be fluttering in this chest, Charta thought. Perhaps that it isn’t is for the best.

He thought this because if he actually felt Winston’s true heart beating, he may faint. The overload of the other feeling nervous just over them touching was enough to make Charta feel fuzzy. It was hardly overwhelming, not as overwhelming as some writings he had consumed. However, it was a significant buzz in his otherwise inactive system. It was a hum and thrum of life and breath he didn’t particularly need.

But he wanted it.

He wanted it from Winston.

It was heavily appropriate, that the ghosts of emotions haunted him because of a ghost. Because of a being who lingered in spite of naysayers. It was appropriate that one such as himself, one who could not feel on his own, was capable of feeling because of someone like this. It was utterly fascinating, how he could lay his head on the empty chest of this individual and still feel fuller than he could if there was a strong, living heartbeat beneath his ear.

Charta felt warm.

He felt . . . real.

Ink was real. Writing was real. Literature, music, poetry, scripts, essays, were all real. He was . . . not as real as any other these things.

He was a blank space.

An empty page.

But with this ghost, he was more.

A stuttered breath left his lips and he wrapped his arms around Winston. Nuzzling the other, he heard the unsure hum of insecurity and confusion in Winston’s throat. It was quickly assuaged and ignored as Charta tightened his hold, encouraging the other to hold him tighter.

Two wrongs don’t make a right, but two hollow men could fill each other for a night.

Charta smiled as Winston returned the embrace. He was pleased that this was neither their first nor last night together in that case.


	18. Meet Me in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old friends, old times: proof that nothing lasts forever. Not even for a Seelie fae and his young friend the little thief.

Arrows peppered the tree, creating rungs for her to climb up easily. As she reached the end of the makeshift ladder, she then proceeded to climb up and into the branches of the tree. She didn’t stop until she was at the very top, sitting astride a branch with her back to the trunk. She kicked her feet lightly, looking down to see how high up she had climbed. She smiled at how small everything seemed from up here.

She didn’t even jump with a small finger poked her foot.

Mari looked down, and grinned at the blue eyed fae who had snuck up on her. “Hood!” she cried, throwing her hands up in the air before leaning forward to balance on the branch again. She stared happily down at the hummingbird winged boy who crouched on the branch below her as if he could launch away at any moment. “What have you got for me today?”

He grinned back at the small thief and chuckled. “I could ask the same of you.”

Mari stuck her tongue out and gave him a raspberry. However, she did reach in her pocket and pull out a small sack of candies she had stolen. Handing the sack to him, she watched him croon and hum as he reached in and pulled out a hard piece. Popping it into his mouth, she raised an eyebrow and folded her arms. “Well?”

“It is tasty.” After a moment, she huffed at the answer. He then gave her a playful grin, assuring her he did not forget his own gift for her. “Not as tasty as this, perhaps.”

Hood reached into his cowl, hand seeming to disappear behind his head as he pulled forth a fruit she did not recognize. She bounced on her branch before taking it from him and practically shoving the whole thing in her mouth, stem and all. Hood guffawed at her eagerness, but did not tell her to eat it any other way.

She knew well enough by now he would let her learn these things on her own.

Spitting out the pit and stem of the fruit, he caught the seed but let the stem fall. Putting the pit back inside his hood, Mari asked, “Was that one from the fae realm too?”

Hood nodded. “Did you like it?” Mari nodded vigorously. “There’s more where it came from.”

If she would just come with him. Those were the words Hood never said. But Mari knew better than to go with him. Even if she were a child, she knew that to eat the food of the fae realm would trap her there. Maybe if he would outright ask her to go with him she would. For now, they sat peacefully and played games with one another.

It wasn’t until they ran out of things to spy that Mari asked for the millionth time, “What’s it like back home for you?” She wanted to see if Hood would change his answer as he had before.

“Beautiful. The children are happy and the Seelie are friendly. It is a lovely home, bright and happy and perfect.”

Mari hummed. “But you said the Unseelie are mean.”

Hood faltered. That was what he often left out in his explanations: the dangers of the fae not like him. And he never told her what happened when the children got older. He always said they wouldn’t. Children stay young forever, he would say. When she asked how, he gave no coherent answer.

She just knew he wasn’t being wholly honest with her.

But he was being honest when he took her hand and said, “If you came with me to see it, you would love it.” She liked to think his smile was genuine. After all, she had seen many ingenuine smiles. Enough to tell the difference. “You would not have to steal again. You could run and play with me and we would be happy forever.”

Mari hummed again. “But how long is forever?”

Hood faltered, scoffing as if trying to come up with an answer. “Forever is forever! It never ends.”

Mari didn’t argue with him. Instead, she changed the subject and moved on. 

She knew better. Everything ends eventually.

So she would enjoy their time while he still adored her.


	19. Our Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winston knows exactly how to get his point across to Charta.

‘The blank space of your skin  
A canvas of the purest white  
The black smears and seeps in  
Always just out of plain sight’

Winston hummed as he wrote the words into Charta’s chest, eyes darting up to look at the living page before darting back down to continue. For some strange reason, the words Winston was inscribing were leaving him slightly out of breath. He was sure to find out why. He always did.

‘Your cover creaks as it opes to me  
An old book I have read before  
I had high hopes you would see  
Exactly what I’ve been waiting for’

Charta couldn’t help the snort that left him at the comparison to a book. Any other time he would think this funny. But as Winston hummed and his eyes darted from Charta’s face back to his chest, he caught sight of the shaking of his hands. The ink was scratchier and less neat than he had ever seen Winston write.

And he continued feeling breathless.

Wetness pricked his eyes and he grew . . . worried.

‘I want to taste your ink on my lips  
I want to feel the cut of your kiss  
If this is the last life I must live  
I want your touch to be what I miss’

There it was. The change of tune in Winston’s hum. The closing of Charta’s throat. This was it: the reason for the tears and the nervousness.

‘If this is the last thing I can do  
Just let me wrap my arms around you  
Keep you safe and keep you near  
Until we both just disappear’

It was a song. It was . . . a song for him. Charta had guessed but . . . he hadn’t expected this much emotion to flood him in the words.

And Winston was pulling the pen away. Charta wanted to yank it back and urge him to keep writing. But then the ghost declared, “It’s not finished, but . . . I thought you might like the work in progress.”

Charta only had one way to express just how much he wanted to see the song finished. Cupping Winston’s face, he pulled the ghost into a bruising, needy, overwhelming kiss. Winston moaned as soon as their lips were mashing together, Charta sighing into his mouth as his tongue allowed him to gain entry into Winston’s mouth.

Winston’s song echoed in his head and the ink was etched into his skin. The initial emotion of the words may be temporary, but the depth and power were guaranteed to forever linger in the back of his mind.

Every time he locked eyes with Winston . . . .

He would think of how he cut the ghost with his lips.


	20. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eros never lets on what he's truly feeling. Why should he?

It didn’t hurt anymore.

It hadn’t hurt at first. At first, it was the same situation as ever. Zephyr had found a new obsession. A new pretty face. Before, when Zephyr was tied to his realm and his realm alone, he had no need to worry. As soon as Zephyr’s behavior started to shift, he could nip it in the bud. He always had control. Zephyr was always honest with him, clear with him. He always defaulted to him and never questioned whether or not he knew what was best for him.

Eros had always known what was best for him, even when he hadn’t liked it.

“I come first.”

“In all situations.”

“Very good.”

“Thank you Master.”

He and Zephyr had been doing this for millennia. By now, he would have firmly believed that Zephyr could see through his rules and stern countenance. Psyche could. She knew him like the back of her elegant, soft as dove’s feather hand. She had known him for a much shorter time than he and Zephyr, and yet she knew him. He would have thought Zephyr knew him as well.

Knew the reason he always checked up on him even when he had done nothing good nor anything bad of late.

Knew the reason he had always been an invasive presence in Zephyr’s life, even when the former wind god hadn’t wanted him there.

Knew the reason he watched him sleep, made sure he ate, kept him breathing, brought him to life when he had stopped.

Zephyr should have known. Why would Eros drop his airs if Zephyr knew? Why would he pretend to be anything other than the higher being that he was for someone if they knew his ways? No one knew him better than Zephyr. It was questionable if his own mother knew him as well.

He thought Zephyr would have known.

He thought . . . .

He had been wrong.

It was just another temporary love interest. A pretty face he would mention in passing then forget the next day. It had happened so many times before, but the loves Zephyr took always paled in comparison to him. He was a sun and they were merely discs his light reflected off of. Zephyr always came back to the true source, the one who truly shone in his life.

The one who truly cared.

Who could ever hope to outshine the sun . . . except another sun?

Or star.

The creature was a star, small and dazzling in comparison to his mass and brilliance. A nightweaver, a dot on a black and blue backdrop. Eros didn’t think much of him at first. He was Zephyr’s sun. The sun could outshine any star in the same galaxy so long as the star remained distant. And he did. Namid was the very essence of distance between two points, himself being one point and Eros the other. Zephyr remained in revolution around Eros, no matter how appealing that star may have seemed to him. Eros had outshone many, many moons and planets, so what was a star that longed to remain distant from him?

Nothing.

That star should have been nothing.

He had been wrong.

Zephyr was given ample opportunity to spend time with Namid. That time even cut into time he should have been spending with Eros. This wasn’t abnormal. It would not be the first time Zephyr fantasized about someone while in Eros’s presence. Zephyr always saw the error of his ways and came back to him. Came orbiting back around him and took his place, like he had never left, like he had always meant to return.

It wasn’t that he didn’t return this time.

It was that . . . .

It was as physically impossible for an object to change revolution on a whim as it was for a star to get closer. Their distance should have remained fixed. If anything, the distance should have grown.

He never saw Namid coming. He never saw the distance lose its prominence.

He had simply turned around one day . . . .

And there he stood.

There he stood with an arrow in his chest.

Eros and Zephyr had fought like never before. Zephyr had never been so adamant as to fight him over a lover. Not in this measure of ferocity. None of his lovers had fought Eros for Zephyr either.

It hit him.

It hit him like one of his own bolts.

The adoration in Zephyr’s voice as he spoke to Namid.

As he greeted him.

The devotion in his gaze . . . .

The energy with which Namid responded . . . .

It wasn’t always positive but . . . it was strong. It was powerful. It was omnipresent in the core of Zephyr’s entirety.

It was like nothing he had ever seen in the god.

The hurt began as soon as they parted after that fight. Eros was no fool. He was good at his job. Excellent, stellar even. He knew love when he saw it. It never mattered what kind of love, he just. Knew. Love.

Which led to the point . . . .

It was never Zephyr who should have known better. 

It was Eros.

Zephyr had greeted Namid with all the adoration and devotion he had once thought was Eros’s alone but if Eros had listened, had truly listened, he would have heard the difference.

The adoration and devotion had never been his to begin with.

It was a physical blow to his heart, the organ Zephyr so lovingly referred to him as in that language he adored so much. It was so harsh he actually clutched his chest, breaths shallow and limbs heavy. He was hurting. He was hurting as he hadn’t been in millennia. He was dying. He had to be. His mother’s vague prophecy that one day they would all disappear was ringing true and there was no one who could bring the pain to a close, no one who could make it end, make it go away, make it stop hurting.

He had been wrong.

There was one who could make it hurt less . . . but . . . .

It wasn’t that Zephyr had lied. What he had felt was real, but perhaps . . . misguided. Perhaps ingrained.

Eros had made him live this.

Eros had made him love him.

Namid had never even asked for the affections Zephyr showered upon him, had even run from them.

Eros grit his teeth. He ground them until he heard them start to click and crack. He would make his knuckles give under the pressure of how tight he closed his fist. He would wish ill on the nightweaver, want Zephyr to kill him one more time just so Eros could go to the one who held their souls and assure her he would pay her handsomely to keep Namid dead. He wanted to teach Zephyr a lesson. He wanted to rewrite every rule he had ever instilled in the god until he saw just how deeply he had been cut, until he saw that he was the only sun he should be orbiting, until he saw that he still had a Master to please, all the while the words, “Love me, love me, love me,” circled his brain until he could no longer think, could only hear the adoration and see the devotion that was never truly his.

Eros took his frustrations out on any and every individual that came into his line of sight. Zephyr. The black blooded abomination and his Phobias. The draconic beast who had stampeded through his halls. The cultists. The other gods. His mother when she dared show her face again.

His hurt knew no limits.

And all the while Namid feared him.

Feared and hated him.

Good, he had thought. Good. See your better. See the god of love. See the being who could end your life indefinitely, who could take away your everything, who could destroy you in ways no other could. See the one you stole from. See me. See Eros.

All the while . . . Eros was looking at the one who had accomplished what he never could.

Namid had bound Zephyr to him, and he had never had to raise a hand.

Eros watched them from afar. He watched how they developed. How they changed. He stopped feeling the desire to intervene, to stop the development, to struggle with Namid’s hatred and fear. He stopped stepping in altogether. He watched. When Zephyr wanted him, he listened. He ordered. He behaved as he always had. After all . . . why would he pretend to be anything other than the higher being that he was for someone who should know better?

Eros was the sun.

He was the constant.

He wouldn’t go anywhere, even if it meant having to watch for the rest of eternity.

He had been wrong, but it didn’t hurt anymore.

One day . . . his rage would fade as well.


	21. Black Goose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One Seelie was enough to make Judea change her whole life.

Judea deviated between reading and looking over the top of her book at the fae before her. Lucy’s wings fanned out as she gardened, the woman humming a tune she had most assuredly heard from the radio she had stolen from the human realm. The former Unseelie’s wings still felt new, even though she had been Seelie for a while now. Black swan feathers were tucked against her back as she sat and watched the dainty little Seelie.

There wasn’t a drop of sweat on Lucy’s body as she worked.

Judea licked her lips and her stomach roiled with a hunger she had long ignored.

Marking her page, she set her book aside and proceeded to crawl on her hands and knees towards Lucy. Coils of black hair fell over her hooded eyes, a growl sounding low in her throat as she approached the delicate goose feathered woman slowly. Her movements were calculated and predatory, her tongue darting out to lick at her lips.

There was a question that burned in her mind every time Lucy managed to tempt her like this: just how was she going to devour her?

A dark part of her mind recalled the feeling of unhinging her jaw and drawing beautiful things into the void of her stomach. There was an ancient part of her that longed to treat Lucy as all the other beautiful things she had encountered in her life. A deep and unsavory voice made her salivate as it ordered her to put her mouth on Lucy, bite her, swallow her down.

Piece by piece.

A chill ran through Judea at the very thought of Lucy’s blood coating the front of her white gown.

Her lips finally made contact with the back of Lucy’s shoulder. It was not a bite, but a gentle kiss. Lucy’s humming turned into purring and she shivered before turning to kiss Judea full on the mouth. “Yes love?” she asked, voice just as soft and sweet as her skin.

“I’m hungry.”

Judea kissed away the other questions that threatened to fall from Lucy’s lips.

Judea had come to the conclusion long ago that her Seelie fae was much too beautiful to eat just once.


	22. Snowflake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha has many weapons up his sleeve. Gale is one of them.

Sasha ran his fingers over the glass globe on top of his custom-made cane before tapping it twice. The wind picked up automatically and he was grateful they were outside. The first time he had done this, he had been inside and Seon had been quite furious at the gust Gale had made.

Snow picked up and began to spin in a small dervish, and Sasha was reminded of the first time he’d caught Gale dancing on the Russian snowdrifts. He had thought himself imagining things, but with his former beast’s help he’d managed to lure the elemental into a deal. He was now able to summon Gale with the small snow globe attached to his cane at any time.

The lesser air elemental’s eyes opened as the snowflakes formed his body, hovering in midair and giving him shape. “It’s been a while, Sasha,” Gale declared gleefully, “and yeti still looks really good on you.”

Sasha grinned and gave a laugh as the chill reached his tongue. Yeti was certainly keeping him from freezing at the moment. “Russia looks good on you as always, snezhinka.”

“What sort of favor do you need from me?” If an elemental could beam, Sasha was sure this was what it looked like.

Sasha answered honestly. “A storm threatens a trade route of ours.” He explained location, using Seon’s words exactly and expressing the need for these supplies to get through without any trouble whatsoever. “It would be much appreciated if you could change the path of the storm.”

Gale whistled, the sound echoing over the steppes. “I think I can carve a new path for you.” Both smiled. “Now what new experience are you going to promise me in exchange?” Sasha’s smile widened then as he pulled a carefully wrapped and disguised toy out of his coat pocket. Gale’s eyes widened, as did his own grin. “And what is that? Another vibrator?” Gale shook his head. “Originality please love,” the elemental quipped.

“Oh no, this is not a vibrator.”

Gale tilted his head. “You promise?”

“Have I ever disappointed?”

Gale went quiet. Then he asked, “Can I have it now?”

“Of course.” Sasha handed the item to Gale. Before the elemental could open it, he said, “But if you want a demonstration, snezhinka, you will have to hurry back.” Sasha licked his lips and Gale let out a purr that reverberated through him.

And thus Sasha guaranteed a continued relationship of mutual satisfaction with the lesser air elemental.


	23. Dance and Rock and Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blythe and Arelius have been in friendly competition with one another for a long time.

“Too slow, doll,” he declared as he darted down the hall, bag of jewelry slung over his shoulder as he left Blythe to her own devices. The sirens blaring within the jewelry store left Arelius’s ears pinned, and he leapt into the shadow pocket Blythe had left open for him as quickly as possible.

Once within the shadow realm he held his breath. He could do this for a long time, having trained himself to hold his breath for up to five minutes. At some point she would join him.

She always did. 

Even though he had left her behind, it wasn’t without the knowledge she would be safe when the fuzz arrived. Blythe was more skilled at hiding than even he. She just wasn’t as skilled at stealing. Well, that wasn’t true. She thrived in close proximity, picking wallets and watches and jewelry with ease. But Arelius was ever the addict for a grand heist. That addiction had passed to their son.

It only took a minute and twenty odd seconds for a small palm to grasp his foot. He was pulled through safely, tail curled around his waist as he was brought out of the shadows and into their current safe house and apartment.

And much to his dismay, his wife was tilting her hat and grinning at him with those magnificent red eyes. “What was that about slow, darling?” She gestured outward, referring to the jewelry and valuables decorating every flat surface in the room. “I could have sworn you were implying I wasn’t quick enough for you.”

Arelius’s ears remained flat against his head as he stared down at the much, much smaller woman. After a moment’s silence, he asked, “Just where were you hiding all these goods?”

She quirked an eyebrow, hands on her hips. “You calling me a liar?”

“No, but a cheater.” He dropped his bag and started advancing on her. She backed up slowly, expression only becoming slightly more pinched as she narrowed her eyes and dulled her grin. “I thought the pockets on that suit were fake.”

“Just because I have pockets and you don’t doesn’t mean I cheated.”

“Is your hat and infinity hole?”

“Arelius darling, how many hats will you ruin by trying to stick your whole arm in them?”

Ten more if he needed to. “You’re not playing this game fairly.”

“And you’re just a sore loser.” The backs of her knees hit the bed and she sat down. The jewelry clinked together and pooled around her as she slid backwards onto the mattress. The bed dipped once again under Arelius’s weight as he followed her, crawling up her body until he was hovering over her. “You know you have as much access to the shadows as I do.” Her words were softer, and he could hear the breathlessness in her voice. 

Her hat rolled off her head and he picked it up with his tail and tossed it on the chair by the bed. “I think,” he murmured as he started popping the buttons on her vest free one by one, his tail looping around her shoes and pulling them off as he positioned himself between her legs, “some additional inspections are in order.”

“Are you a yellow jacket now?” she huffed as the vest fell open and he started to undo her shirt as well. 

His tail popped her suspenders free before he was undoing her trousers. “One can never be too sure.”

“This is not how we christen the merchandise, darling,” she whispered as he continued to unwrap her like a gift.

“Oh doll,” he grinned as his face hovered inches from hers, “christening requires something sacred, and,” he teased her lips with a nip, licking his own as their breaths mingled, “there’s nothing sacred about this union.”

That they weren’t covered in blood was a miracle, but there would be something coating the jewels and making them shine brighter when they turned them over to a fence. Even if it had to be sweat from their bodies.


	24. A Golden Misunderstanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few months ago, Sinistro had the great misfortune of making the acquaintance of a very defensive dragon.

Sinny had fallen upon a pile of gold, but only in Dexy’s stories had he ever anticipated a dragon defending that pile. “Wow,” he muttered to himself, shifting about on the mound before catching a glimpse of amber staring him down. “Well, this is unexpected.” Honestly what he really wanted was a trip inside the megafridge the giant was always griping about getting stuck in.

“Is it?” He looked up at the rumble that followed the question. “Is it really?” The question was snarled.

Sinny froze as the small creature came crawling from the shadows. He was on his feet, watching with ears following the creature’s movement. The dragon’s movement. “Oh,” he murmured. “You’re a . . . a cute . . . cute dragon.” He shifted, then stilled when she bristled and growled at the movement.

Her voice deepened as she—no he, had to be he—snarled, “Cute?” Sinny looked over the talons at the end of white scaled hands, glistening fangs catching his eyes next. “Who are you calling cute, thief?”

“Thief?” For once, Sinny actually wasn’t looking to take from this plunder. Unless there was a jelly doughnut hidden somewhere. In which case he’d be happy to steal. However, “I was just looking. This isn’t my kind of treasure.”

The look in the dragon’s face was downright feral and panic welled up inside him. “That’s what they all say.”

And suddenly Sinny was unleashing the scream of Scrat from Ice Age as a dragon chased him through Tilӓ bent on eating him, only to be rescued by Tea picking up said dragon and carrying him away. Tea told Sinny to apologize for upsetting Lee (apparently Lee was a dragon’s name). “Apologize to him?! He was gonna eat me!”

“You touched his gold. You don’t just touch a dragon’s gold,” the giant declared. Sinny scoffed and walked off with his tail tucked between his legs.

It took a week of griping to Dexy to realize that perhaps he should apologize. This of course was after she had repeatedly told him that perhaps he should make amends with an allegedly ancient member of the cult. “He could make your life here miserable. And dragons do think differently from people.” She shrugged. “Or brownies.”

The argument over his species was probably why it took him so long to concede.

But Sinny couldn’t fathom a verbal apology being enough. Dexy agreed, suggesting he present Lee with a gift of some sort. Heading into the local vampire’s trinket shop (and leaving behind a director’s cut of the Twilight movie series as a show of gratitude Gabriel spewed a colorful amount of Victorian slang at), he returned with something he could tell was valuable enough that it may well catch the dragon’s eye.

Finding the dragon again wasn’t easy as he didn’t want to end up in the same situation that landed him here. He showed up in full size, knocking on the door only to be ignored. Or perhaps Lee wasn’t there. He wasn’t sure. Tail twitching he debated leaving the apology gift there for Lee to find.

Then something struck him in the hip and he spun about.

Sinny found himself staring down at . . . a larger . . . not . . . unattractive version of the small being who had chased him. The scar on Lee’s cheek was more prominent in this form, and his glare seemed . . . meaner. Even though Lee had yet to threaten to eat him again, he looked even more volatile now. Maybe it was the size difference (despite Sinny being almost three feet larger).

“Come to get a second look?” Lee growled, tail whipping back and forth. “Or do I need to take a bite out of you to get my point across?”

“Ah, no. Um,” Sinny’s own tail wrapped and twisted around a leg out of concern, “the opposite. I wanted to,” he pointed to Lee with his extended claw, “apologize. To you,” he declared, as if Lee couldn’t tell he meant the dragon by the pointing alone.

Lee rolled his eyes, then huffed. “I’ve heard more genuine apologies from Tapi. And she’s rarely genuine. Go away.”

Sinny’s ears pinned, eyes narrowed. “Hold on now.” Sinny opened his palm to reveal the gift he’d retrieved from Gabriel. “I wanted to . . . to um,” why couldn’t he talk suddenly? “To apologize with—”

“You wanted to buy my sympathy. How nice. Now please leave—”

“Now you wait just a second—”

“I’m not in the mood for more fakes.”

“You know what, take the stupid thing.” Sinny chucked the gift at Lee’s chest, the dragon clapping his hands on the pin. He started to leave, not caring whether Lee kept it or not. He just didn’t want to hold onto it any longer. “I won’t touch your gold again, and you won’t have to talk to me again. My apologies for troubling you.”

Sinny’s tail whipped similarly to the dragon’s, smacking Lee’s scaled fifth appendage out of his way as he started to round the corner. Lee didn’t call him back or say anything.

But Sinny did stop when Lee murmured in bafflement, “This is real.”

Sinny turned to look over his shoulder at Lee, who was holding the pin to his nose. He appeared to be smelling the gold, the diamond studs, the rubies laid out in a delicate pattern. Sinny’s eyes stayed narrowed, ears still pinned but turned towards the dragon’s voice. “Yeah. It’s real.”

Lee looked at Sinny over the pin, features softening slightly. He gave Sinny a onceover. Twiceover. Thriceover. He didn’t know someone could do that, didn’t know if those were even words. “What do you want for this?”

Sinny turned back, tail hitting the wall in his agitation. “For you to accept my apology. Are you deaf?”

“If I said yes, how dumb would you feel?” Sinny’s eyes widened and his ears and tail drooped. Had he unintentionally insulted the same person he had been trying to regain favor with? “Guess that means a lot. No worries. I’m not.” Sinny returned to glaring at Lee. “You’re giving me real gold and jewels to say you’re sorry?”

“Yeah.”

“Just throwing real value away, just like that.”

“It’s not cake, so I don’t know what’s so valuable about it.”

“It can buy several cakes.”

“Don’t bother me with the facts.”

Lee smirked and . . . there was a funny feeling in Sinny’s stomach. His expression lightened as he looked at the other and he almost felt sick. But it wasn’t an unpleasant sick. It was just . . . strange. “Alright.” Lee pocketed the pin after one more sniff. “Apology accepted.” Lee opened the door to his room and disappeared.

And Sinny was left staring after the dragon with the most unsettling feeling in his stomach he had ever had and yet . . . he wasn’t desperate for it to go away.


	25. Muff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pia has a very saucy friend.

“You seemed to have made a mess of yourself.”

Muff leaned and rose up and pressed into the brush Pia was using to maintain her abnormally long and thick fur. She actually purred like a cat at the attention, closing her red eyes and holding the string of pearls in her palm while Pia groomed her. With a pleased groan, she declared, “That guy who made a snide remark to you the other day. His house is a fucking wreck.”

“Because of you?”

Muff flopped on her side to let Pia continue brushing her. “No.” She groaned again. “I’ve never had to clean to get back at someone. Do you know how hard it is for me to clean?” Her skin crawled at the very thought.

“I imagine you broke several things in the process.”

The boggart let out a smooth chuckle then. “Oh,” she purred, “did I ever?”

Rolling Muff over, Pia proceeded to brush her other side. “And how did you get back at him by cleaning and breaking?”

“I cleaned everything out is what I did. Organized it all right in his backyard. Asshole’s furniture got a nice sprinkle of rain, I’m sure it will only add to the smell and not actually detract.” 

Pia smiled down at the boggart. “Gliders.” Muff obeyed, rolling onto her stomach and extending her gliders for Pia to groom. She purred louder. “So his house is empty?”

Muff nodded. “Cleaner than it’s ever been most likely.”

“What did you break to make that happen?”

“Couple of windows. Maybe a door.”

“No walls?” Muff shook her head and Pia finished brushing her, stopping with her tail. Then she scratched the boggart’s head, right between her ears. Muff gave a sputtered coo. “Good.”

“Taking down a wall would have made things easier though.”

“Would have drawn more attention to you too.” Pulling the pearls from Muff’s palm, she looped them around the boggart’s neck and clasped them. “Now where is your feather cap? It’ll look good with the dress I’m wearing.” After telling her where to find it, Pia went to retrieve it. Affixing it to Muff’s head, she then picked up the small creature and draped her around her shoulders. Muff’s eyes remained closed, her head and palms resting on Pia’s right shoulder as her body curled around her neck and balanced on her left shoulder. Her tail closed the circle, looping around the boggart’s own wrist. Pia hummed at the purr of her pet and friend, then declared. “Do not pick any fights while we are mingling, alright? You do not want me to drop you off with my father for a week, do you?”

Muff yawned. “Man needs to get himself together.”

Muff’s opinion of Pia’s father amused her, but there were times that Pia really couldn’t argue with her.


	26. Attempts at Courtship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Umber thinks he's courting, but in actuality he's still scary as hell.

The dark was deadly. The dark was the enemy. She should hate the creature who made her fear the dark, but she wound up hating her skin and fur more for making her look like she belonged in the dark.

Dakota moved up and over boulders and rocks with ease, her hooves finding footholds easily as she returned to her cave by nightfall. Her tail carried the underbrush she had gathered for the fire that night. Scratching around her horns, she shook her head as flies attempted to get at her eyes. A hiss left her throat, and a fly landed on her tongue. She actually dropped the brush, tail uncurling and swatting as the boggart hybrid used several appendages to smack at the pests surrounding her. She turned toward what she had dropped and immediately started gathering it again with her arms.

She saw movement behind a nearby rock.

Movement in its long shadow.

Dakota went still, her tail instinctively tucking between her legs. She lowered herself to the ground, hiding the tremble of her arms and goat-like legs as she crouched to the ground. Her red eyes glared at the shadow, but she did not call out. She merely growled.

After a moment, another set of red eyes opened and a white grin cracked across the face of the creature.

The smaller of the two bayed like the mountain goat she had stolen her features from as she flung a stone at the nine foot tall hybrid who had been following her for a week now. He would appear randomly, in the day and at night. She swayed back and forth like the prey she felt like under the pressure of his gaze. This tophat and trenchcoat wearing creature that was nothing but a larger version of her terrified her for two reasons.

He did not fear the dark but instead thrived in it.

He was male.

The only way she let him know she was scared was the position of her tail. Otherwise, she was downright aggressive. She had charged him twice, and he had disappeared. He had not attacked. He had not even touched her. But his presence still bothered her on a molecular level. She glared at the hybrid stalking her, quickly pulling her underbrush against her puffed out chest and loosing a feral snarl in his direction. She refused to move until he disappeared again.

And it was steadily getting darker.

Her trembling got worse. It was difficult, backing up the mountain without slipping. She managed. Dakota didn’t like turning her back on this other hybrid. As soon as she did he would be right behind her. As it was, he was following her slowly up the mountain. He watched her as closely as she watched him.

Dakota slipped and fell on her rear, dropping the underbrush again. This time she didn’t pick it up. He was too close. He was much too close. Scrambling upright, she then got on her hands and proceeded to crawl backwards up the mountain instead of try to walk on two feet. It was getting darker, her cave still felt so far away, and she had dropped what she was going to burn tonight to keep the dark away.

Backing up, she hesitated to keep going when the taller stopped and hovered over the fallen underbrush. Her hesitation lasted about as long a few seconds as she continued her way up while he stared. A howl of warning ripped from her throat when he bent over and, with abnormally long fingers and claws, picked up the underbrush she had left behind. Another howl lodged in her throat when he held it up to her with that smile, like he meant no harm in offering her what she had dropped. He had done this many times. He would hold something out to her, offer her a dead animal to roast or a rock (for what reason she did not know, perhaps he thought she liked minerals). She always refused. She never took what he offered.

But right now she was considering it . . . because he was holding her light source.

Stopping in her tracks, she stared pitifully at the underbrush in his outstretched hands. He let out a quiet hum, encouraging her to come forward and claim his gift. She shivered. She did not trust a male who thrived in the darkness she feared. She knew what they were capable of.

But he was holding out the thing that kept her from facing the dark.

He was holding out the thing that surely he knew would provide her comfort.

She was trembling. The last rays of sun peaked over the mountainside. He was persistent, but . . . he had never actually touched her. He had done little more than follow and watch her. He offered her gifts that she refused . . . .

She didn’t have the time or luxury to refuse this one.

Dakota would just have to rely on the strength she had developed while on her own to save her should this be a long-awaited trap.

Grunting, she dug in her hooves before running forward. The taller didn’t move, bracing for impact by leaning forward and holding out the underbrush still. When she reached him she stopped inches from him, yanked the grass from his hands, then darted up the mountainside to her cave without stopping. Once inside, she let out a whimper and sat cross-legged on the ground with her tail still tucked between her legs. She held the underbrush, clinging to what would soon be her light. Looking over her shoulder, she knew she was visibly shaking at their hands simply having touched. Not even touched, but brushed.

When she peered over her shoulder, he was standing at the mouth of the cave as expected. The only unexpected thing was the increase of width to his grin.

For the first time, she heard the other boggart hybrid speak. In a gravelly, cracked voice he asked, “Welcome?” She shook her head immediately, but he didn’t deflate. He simply sat at the edge of the cave as he had done every night since arriving.

She would build her fire and curl around it, eyes locked on the stranger until he got up and left. When he left, she would finally sleep. By the time she awoke it would be light and she’d need to go out and gather more underbrush and eat.

Then this whole affair would repeat itself once again.


End file.
